Not My Heart to Break

by W Winters

  She stares at it a moment before tucking her brunette locks behind her ears.

  “So, spill it,” she requests.

  It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve seen Bethany and the last time we spoke in person things didn’t go so well. It was my fault and I can still feel the distance between us. I hate it. Rubbing my hand down my face, I come to a certain realization. Seems like I’m full of hate today.

  “I owe you an apology—”

  “Stop it,” she says, cutting me off. “You already apologized, for one.” She swallows without looking back at me. It looks like she’s lost weight since I’ve seen her. Meeting my gaze, she says, “Second, I know now.”

  “You know what?” I ask her, my fingers reaching for the ceramic mug.

  Even with concealer under her eyes, I can tell she hasn’t slept. Or maybe I’m just making it up, and I want to avoid talking about me, and move the conversation to her dilemma.

  “That you know Seth,” she confesses. She leans forward and says, “You knew him when I dragged you to his car. You could have told me.” The last sentence she practically whispers and as she says it, I retract my hands from the table and move them to my lap.

  “How do you know?”

  “Jase.” Bethany’s answer is the name of her now-boyfriend. And Seth’s employer. It’s odd to think of Seth working for someone. He was never the type to take orders from anyone other than his father. He was bred to rule. It’s simply who he is.

  “What else did he tell you?” I question, my words coming out carefully. I feel a sick prickling along my skin. Bells chime above the café door and the sound steals my attention for only a fraction of a second. It’s all too intense. Whenever Seth is involved, it’s too intense.

  “He told me not to tell you… so shhh, don’t tell anyone I told you.”

  I roll my eyes as I comment, “As if I ever would,” and try to take another sip of coffee. Again, I can’t taste a thing.

  All I can wonder is how much Jase knows. Did Seth tell him something? Did he tell him everything? I haven’t told a soul. I can’t even speak it out loud.

  With a prick at the back of my eyes, I ask Bethany, my voice cracking, “Did he tell you what happened when I left? What made me leave?”

  Her thick hair swishes as she sips her tea, never taking her eyes off of me. Maybe she’s waiting for me to tell her, but there’s not a chance in hell I will. I can’t. I can’t tell her about Cami.

  With the silence separating us and adding an air of dread to our corner of this little café, Bethany tells me, “He only said that you two were together back when you lived in California and then you left.” I nod. I fled, I ran, I took off. Left seems like such an insignificant word.

  She adds when I don’t respond, “Jase said it looks like Seth followed you here.”

  “He didn’t.” I’m quick to correct her. Derrick told me he didn’t. If he had, he would have come for me sooner. “He didn’t come here for me.”

  Why does it hurt so much? Why does my heart twist and turn before going thud, thud, then pausing in my chest?

  “Jase seems to think otherwise. I walked in on him and Carter talking about it.”

  The furrow of my brow works in time with my curiosity. My interest, and my concern piqued, I lean forward to question, “Why were they talking about it?”

  Bethany shrugs, as if it’s not a big deal. I don’t want my name to be spoken by either of those men. The Cross brothers aren’t known for generosity. They’re brutal. Especially Carter. That sick prickling heats and makes my entire body burn with anxiety.

  “Why did you leave?” she asks me and I’d be grateful for the change of subject away from the Cross brothers, had it been any other subject.

  My finger plays at the rim of my mug, gliding along it as I inhale and exhale, forming the words in my mind first. I’m careful and deliberate with my answer when I say, “Things got hard and a bad thing happened to someone close to me.” I peek up and Bethany’s eyes are assessing. She’s the best nurse at the Rockford Center, in my possibly biased opinion. It’s one of the reasons I was drawn to her. She’s damn good at what she does and she loves people in general. She loves making a difference and helping them. “Don’t you dare treat me like one of the patients,” I warn her.

  Putting her hands up in the air, she protests that she never would. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay.” She resumes her position and cocks a brow at me before adding, “I won’t push you.”

  Her reaction actually makes me huff a humorous laugh. “I’ve literally heard you tell that to patients.”

  She joins in my humor, giving me a genuine grin. It lightens the mood slightly, and I’m grateful for it. “I can’t talk about it and get worked up. We’re in a coffee shop, for fuck’s sake. I don’t even have mascara with me to touch up.” I look her square in the eyes and see my friend again. The bond nearly physical between us, I joke, “I can’t walk out of here with black streaks down my face.”

  She agrees, saying, “This place doesn’t have a bathroom either. So no crying…” and then she persists in order to understand, “…but you left, you were emotional. The breakup was mutual?”

  “Not really.” My gut churns with my response.

  “So you left him?” Fuck it hurts to hear her ask that. My heart agrees, stalling and refusing to resume beating until I respond. I nod and give a small yeah, ignoring the pain that claws at my gut.

  There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to eat those lemon cake squares.

  “And then he moved back but he’s been here for a while and …” I trail off and when Bethany doesn’t say anything, I steel myself to confess the truth to her.

  “And the night at the shopping center, our night out was the first time I’d seen him and spoken to him.”

  I’m surprised by the sorrow that worries Bethany’s expression when she says, “And I just let you go with him. I’m sorry.” Her voice cracks.

  “You trusted him,” I say to defend her and make sure that defense is audible. “It had to happen, Bethany. It was bound to. I’m happy you were with me when it did.”

  Her smile is weak, and the conversation pauses for a moment while she composes herself. “What did he say?” she asks once she’s finally got a grip on her regret.

  How do I tell her he didn’t say a word to me? Again that shame rises at the fact I’d let a man get to me the way he did. More than that, protectiveness spreads through me. I find myself wanting to defend Seth. I don’t want her to think of him like that. He wasn’t always an asshole she’d hate this very second if she knew what transpired.

  He was good.

  I did this to him.

  With a shuddering breath, I skip over the details of that night, only giving her the bare essentials: He dropped me off and told me to meet him last night.

  Telling her what happened yesterday proves to be difficult too. I don’t know how much of my perception is real. Was he cold to me like I remember? Or was he waiting to see what I’d do, like I was doing with him?

  “It looks like more happened than just that, Laura,” Bethany prods, when I try to gloss over it.

  “The thing is, I’m not okay. Not emotionally. I keep finding myself back in that place I was when I left. It’s like I’m grieving all over again.”

  “So this is about the bad thing that happened to someone close to you? Or leaving Seth?”

  “I think both,” I admit to her, truly unsure.

  “An emotional state isn’t linear.” She reminds me of something I already know, and her eyes tell me she knows that I know.

  “I know, but grief is supposed to be in stages and—”

  She cuts me off, her voice pleading with me to understand. “Those stages misrepresent emotions. I just got into this with Aiden.” She makes that last comment under her breath, fiddling with her napkin and then popping a lemon square in her mouth. Aiden is our boss at the Rockford Center. We don’t always see eye to eye on things. It’s go
od for the patients though. If one method isn’t helping them, we have others.

  “No, I know, and I agree with you. The stages are a depiction of the mental capacity to deal with shock and stressors that are too much to handle. Denial isn’t an emotion, it’s a coping mechanism. The stages are a timeline and they move in order and never in reverse because it’s about coping, not about emotional ability.” I stress the last line with the side of my hand hitting the table. “Yesterday, it felt like I was on a roller coaster, a scary one that I don’t want to be on, and it kept moving back without warning, sending me down the same hill I ran from.” The emotions, the wretched feeling I’m describing—it all creeps knowingly toward me again.

  “It’s not the stages of grief you’re talking about. It’s simply loss.”

  “It is,” I admit quietly and close my eyes. “I’m feeling the loss all over again.”

  “Losses,” she says, stressing the plural, “and memories… they’re chaotic, they come and go as they please with no patterns at times. They can be triggered.”

  “Well him being back in my life…” I start to tell her, grabbing hold of the reason, and therefore a semblance of control. “Seth saying…” I almost tell her Babygirl, but I don’t want to give Bethany that much. It feels like a violation of what we have. “Seth saying my name…” I look her in the eyes only after I’ve spoken the last line of deception and continue, “It’s bringing back a lot of shit for me.”

  “That makes sense.” She nods in understanding, and it helps. It makes such a difference just to feel understood. “You’re wrecked. You look it, too.”

  “Well thanks, bestie,” I joke and it makes us both ease into a short laugh. I have to sniffle, although I haven’t cried and when I do, she continues.

  “So you are emotional… in a negative way.”

  “Right.”

  “Were you afraid of what he’d do?”

  “No, I was afraid of how he’d make me feel.”

  “How did he make you feel?” she asks.

  “All sorts of ways.”

  “But did you get butterflies?” There’s a note of optimism in her question.

  I peek at her over my coffee, taking a large gulp and praying it gives me energy I desperately need. It’s only lukewarm now. “Yeah, I got all sorts of butterflies.” Every scene from yesterday washes over me. And even if he was… harder, harsher even, a heat I can’t deny betrays my pride. “He…” I can’t finish the statement without a blush warming my cheeks.

  With wide eyes and an eager grin, Bethany reacts and says, “Oh my God, you’re blushing. Since when do you blush?”

  A laugh bubbles from my lips and I shake my head. I swear Seth will always give me butterflies. As if in response to that thought, my heart flutters that odd beat and I place my hand over the wild thing, trying to calm it.

  “So …” Bethany presses.

  “He thinks he can tell me what to do and I’ll simply be his.” For the second time today, I roll my eyes. It’s followed by a smirk though as I add, “But he went down on me yesterday.”

  If it’s possible, her eyes go even wider with this confession.

  “He didn’t get me off, though.” I don’t hide my disappointment.

  Her response is comical and gets the attention of the older man with thin white hair as she exclaims, “Bastard!”

  I smile into my coffee, sipping it. Even though it’s not hot, it’s delicious. “Yeah, he’s a bastard. It’s a little more serious than the way I’m saying it,” I confess.

  “The Cross brothers are always a little more serious.”

  “He’s not a Cross brother.”

  “He’s one of them. And they are more… intense. I understand that.”

  The air changes between us at the reminder of the occupation of our love interests, if I can even call Seth that anymore, making the lighthearted conversation steer back into the severity it will always claim.

  “Sorry you didn’t get off,” Bethany says, trying to keep it light even though I know she can feel it too.

  “Don’t worry. I got myself off last night to spite him.”

  She laughs first and then I join in.

  “Were you thinking of him?” she questions and even though I don’t laugh anymore, there’s still the hint of a smile on my face when I nod. It’s a sad smile though.

  I thought of who he used to be. I don’t tell her that.

  Bethany chuckles and downs the rest of her tea. I don’t laugh anymore. All the memories flicker back to me, ending with Cami and I have to set my mug down. Guilt worms its way up my throat, knowing I haven’t told Bethany about Cami.

  “You didn’t tell me any of this in all the years we’ve been friends, you know?”

  “I didn’t tell anyone. I just wanted to forget.”

  “I get that. Doesn’t look like you’ll be able to forget now.”

  “I don’t know how I’ll get through it,” I respond absently, not realizing how true the statement is until it’s out there.

  “You’ll figure it out. You’re a smart girl.”

  “Not when it comes to him.” My heart tumbles at the very thought of him. Which reminds me… “I need to swing by the pharmacy and head out,” I tell Bethany as I reach down to my satchel on the floor and search for my keys.

  “Birth control?” she questions.

  “Arrhythmia.”

  She blinks rapidly, a frown marring her face before picking up her teacup again. “I didn’t know. I’m learning a lot about you today.”

  Worry and panic dance in the pit of my stomach. It’s a short little number, but I know why. I’m afraid Bethany won’t like me if she learns it all.

  “I was diagnosed right before I left California. I didn’t get the pills until after I’d moved away. You know how it is, I got busy with school and work. I didn’t have any symptoms so I didn’t refill my meds over the years. But I can feel it now.”

  “You shouldn’t play around when it comes to heart problems.” Bethany’s comment sounds like something Cami said once. With a chill stretching lazily down my spine, my gaze catches a woman in the window the second I think of Cami. She’s gone before I can see her fully. It was just a profile, but I swear it was Cami. She looked just like her.

  “Hey, seriously,” Bethany says and reaches out her hand, grabbing my right hand that’s gripping the keys so tight I can feel the sharp edges digging into my fingers.

  “Get your medicine and take it.” She talks to me the way she does with the patients she cares so much about.

  If I had any energy left, I’d tell her to knock it off. Instead I answer, “I know. I will.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “You need to sleep too,” she adds as she reaches for her purse and we both stand. It’s the first time I get a full view of her getup. She looks like she’s going out on a date in that black silk blouse and dark jeans. “You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

  “I took sweets last night to help.” My comment stops her dead in her knee-high, black-leather-booted tracks. “It’s just to help me sleep,” I add to justify it. “I had a vial in my medicine cabinet from years ago when I first moved here.”

  “Sweets? Where the hell did you get sweets?” The surprise is just as evident in her voice as the contempt. As if I’m some sort of drug addict. She knows just as well as I do that plenty of our patients know exactly where to get all sorts of drugs. A lot of them self-medicate before they’re even diagnosed.

  “I had problems sleeping a while back,” I explain to her, willing her to calm down. “A patient at the center said it would put me to sleep in an instant.”

  “You trusted the crazies?” Bethany says and eyes me like I’m a damn lunatic.

  “No,” I object, “although, eventually yes.”

  With her eyes closed, she looks like she’s praying for mercy and patience. “I couldn’t sleep; everyone could tell. Margret mentioned it every day. I tried melatonin, valerian—I eve
n tried NyQuil for fuck’s sake, until that wasn’t working anymore. I tried everything I could get over the counter.”

  “You couldn’t just go to the doctor’s to get something?”

  I shrug and say, “I tried everything; sweets were my last option. But it worked. It just lets you sleep.”

  “You know the men who sell it.”

  “It helps with addiction… you just sleep through the withdrawal.” I try to justify it, but the truth is that the entire reason I resisted taking my patient’s advice at first is because the sweets are dealt by the same men who sell everything else on street corners.

  “If you say so,” she says lowly and crosses her arms.

  I’m quick to change the subject and ask, “When do you come back to work?”

  “On Monday,” she tells me and then counts the days. “Just four more days. I wish this weekend would be over already.”

  “I just switched my shift for tonight. I have today off, but I’ll be working tomorrow and Sunday. I think I’m on for Monday too.”

  “Good, let’s talk then?”

  “Of course. I have to tell you what you missed at work too.” I scrub at my tired eyes, careful of my mascara. “The world is changing quickly, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah it is. Go get your prescription.”

  “Love you,” I tell Bethany. Gratitude swarms me knowing I have her as a true friend.

  “Love you too,” she tells me earnestly, pouting her lip just slightly and pulling me in for a tight hug.

  I think about how I truly thought Cami would be the last person to ever say those words to me.

  When I left, I knew Seth would never forgive me, because I couldn’t even forgive myself. I bought a new place with the cash, I settled down and went to school. I didn’t talk to a soul though. I was dying inside until I met Bethany.

  Bethany hugs me tighter when I try to let go. She’s stealing the method I use. Only two months ago, I did the same to her. I laugh a little, and she tells me again she loves me. It breaks me so I hold her back even tighter.

  “Have hope,” she whispers when I don’t let go, bringing to mind the image of Seth and me together. I finally unwrap my arms from around her and close my eyes, telling her goodbye for now. When I open them, I swear I see that woman outside the window again. The coldness comes back and I swear she looks just like Cami from the back. Goosebumps travel quickly, gracing every inch of my skin.